How did I react when my mother died and I was nine years old…
When I was 9 years old my mother dies. I was cross with her because, accordingly to what I was told, “God had called her” and she didn’t tell him that she didn’t want to go, and went just like that, leaving us by ourselves.
I also was angry with that God that called people that had children with out thinking the children needed them. He could have called some other person that “didn’t need to live anymore”, for example, my grandmother!
After my anger had passed, and as I have heard that the people that died went to live in the stars and each one had his/hers own star, I decided to look for the little star where my mother lived now. I looked at the night sky, I study the stars that were there, and I decided that one of them was the one where my mother lived.
So I started to talk to that star. Telling my mother about all the pains and “misfortunes” that happen to me during the day…
And, in my head, many stories come, as if it was my mother telling them to me.
In one of these stories my mother explained to me that God call for her help because she was the only one who could take care, with love and patience and carefully, of the many little children and babies that were dying and come there all alone, with out their mothers. In her star lived more or less one hundred children lost from their mothers that stayed in the Earth. And she told them stories and embraces them and looked after them.
So I shouldn’t be jealous, because I had my father, my grandparents to take care of me and I was already big enough to do things with out her.
I had to agree that God had to take her instead of my grandmother, because my grandmother wouldn’t have patience to support all those babies and children and wouldn’t know how to take care of them. There for, although I was angry, I had to understand that, may be God had a good reason to have chosen my mother!
I knew also that my mother, during the day had to look after all those children and so she couldn’t look after us and protect us. But, during the night she would always be with us, looking after our sleep. It seamed that there, the grown up, didn’t have to sleep!
I think that is why I was never afraid of the night, I always like it and I always loved to sleep as much as I could!
One thing I was sure was that my mother got very sad when she heard all the “misfortunes” that happened to me during the day… And I thought I shouldn’t make her sad as she couldn’t do anything to help and had so much work to do.
That was how I started to tell her the things that happen to me in a funny way, as if it was just a game and it wasn’t important! And we both could laugh about the “funny adventures” I had during the day…
So I learned that everything can be seen in many different ways and many times things are not as serious as we think they are in the moment and we can even laugh at things that hurt us!
It was like that I learn to changed “dramas” into “comedies” and started to see the “other side” of each little thing that happen to us, how sometimes we are so ridiculous thinking that something is very bad…
I think I learned to be optimist for the love I had for my mother, for the love to the love she had for me, for the respect for the pain of others that she had teach me.
I know the pain of losing a mother; I lost mine 17 years ago on St. Pat's Day, March 17. She was not quite sixty. She was sick for years; she died of complications from heart surgery. I was angry, almost to the point of suicide, but God had His Hand on me, and He rescued me. I credit God for my life and for my writing; He has blessed me. Very well done write; God be with you as you remember your mother on Mother's Day. It will be hard for the two of us, but we will make it through, together. I care. Powerful write; thanks for sharing!
(((HUGS))) and much love, your Tx. friend, Karen Lynn. :( >tears! <
The experience of a young adult trying to figure out what they want to do for employment or education can be overwhelming. My book will give them insight to what it means to be a carpenter. And the progress unions have made in discrimination.
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My memories as an immigrant professional woman in Ottawa, Canada 47 years ago. A new life after having survived the liberal war of a new country Bangladesh on December 16, 1971.
